"Valka…"
How many times had he said her name, called her name? In joy? In anger? In pleasure? In fear? Thousands of times, perhaps a million. Valka, Vally, Val…her family's Vally, his Val: always his Val.
Valka Jorgenson
Valka Haddock
Mother of Hiccup
Wife
Mother
Sister
Friend
Gone.
"Stoick!"
Someone called him. Was it her? Another? The call was muted in his ear, as if he was leagues beneath the water. How he longed to simply reside beneath the waves, let the waters take him into the halls of Valhalla. As long as she was there it would be a fate he would gladly accept.
Despite the weight in his arms, they felt empty. They would always be empty now…
"Chief!"
Someone slammed into him from behind. With a roar, Stoick raised his axe, only to find Gobber behind him, covered in soot.
"You'll choke yourself in this smoke, get out of here!"
Was Gobber speaking to him? Stoick wasn't sure. His axe remained raised above his head, his boots glued to what remained of his floor. Their floor. Gobber, his light eyes narrowing, took the whimpering Hiccup from Stoick's arm. The release of the weight made his voice returned.
"Ready a ship-"
"We're still under attack-"
"I SAID READY A SHIP!"
Without offering an explanation, he ran, weaving through the ruins of his village. Their village. Their home. Shambles and ruins. A shell of the life that had been. He had never run so quickly, had never run so much like her. Like a bird on the edge of flight.
She had always wanted to fly.
"Stoick!"
The docks were deserted. Stoick found a small craft that he could power all on his own. He leaped aboard, undid the moorings, and began to row.
It was not too late. It couldn't be too late.
"What's gotten into you!?" Gobber called. Hiccup was wailing now, so confused and alone.
He needed his mother.
Valka.
"Take care of Hiccup!" Stoick yelled back. His strokes were laborious, faster than any one man could dream to row. He could not trust the wind on the sail, he could only trust himself.
In this one thing, he could trust himself.
A quarter mile away, just when his rhythm settled, the wind shifted. Though the sail had not been unfurled, the wind capsized the small vessel, sending Stoick toppling into the water. Sputtering and mad with rage, he began to swim. Hand over hand, his feet kicking, sending up a spray of water behind him. They couldn't have gotten far. No, they had to be on the next island. Meathead Island? No, they hadn't been traveling in that direction. Helheim's Gate? He'd swim there if he had to. Maybe he'd finally find it. Rid the world of evil. Get her back.
Above him, the dragons retreated, soaring off with their bounty. Stoick watched them with a snarl, following them with his eyes, until his spirits sunk. The dragons were flying in a different direction from the beast that had taken her. Where were they going? Helheim? Somewhere else?
The thought threw off his strokes. A wave sent him sideways. Fatigue crept in, and for a moment Stoick struggled to keep his head above water.
Better to just drown myself, he thought, and he almost allowed it too…until he thought of her. Who else would find her? No, he had to find her. He would.
Resurfacing, Stoick saw another ship setting out from Berk. He recognized a few of the tired, sooty faces on board: Gobber, Spitelout, Aron.
"Have you gone mad?" Gobber pulled him aboard when they met. Aron tossed the Chief a raggedy blanket to dry off and to warm up, while Spitelout steered them back towards home. "What's gotten into you? How would I tell your wife?"
He couldn't hold it in any more.
The great Chief of Berk lost himself to his grief. His tears could fill an ocean.
Between the great, heaving sobs, Stoick managed to murmur: "She's gone Gobber. Valka's gone."
The boat jerked to the port side. Spitelout had let go of the tiller.
"What…what did you say?"
Stoick had never thought that Spitelout and Valka resembled one another, they were only half siblings after all…but in that moment, Spitelout's eyes had grown as wide and as large as Valka's. The resemblance became uncanny.
"It's my fault," he choked out, "It's all my fault."
"Stoick, what happened?" Aron demanded.
The Chief could not speak. He wished, prayed that Thor would smite them, or that Aegir would unleash a leviathan to devour them from below. Perhaps Loki had been up to his old tricks, and that Valka would be safe on Berk waiting for him. Perhaps…perhaps…
"It's my fault," he whispered.
"Stoick?"
The Chief did not turn, nor did he acknowledge the interloper. He continued to sit, as he had for hours, in the store room of Mead Hall. Alone, shrouded in darkness. He had stared at that empty corner until he was certain his eyes had crossed. He could hear whispers, murmurs, and cries coming from the vast space behind him…but he could not bring himself to look. To look would mean to turn away from his own misery…and right now his misery was the only thing he wanted accompanying him.
"Stoick, I know you can hear me."
With a great exhale, Stoick snarled: "What is it Gobber?"
"The village is wanting uh…a briefing. Half the buildings are gone, and-"
"We've been managing the same way for decades…they know what to do."
"Uh, yes, well…about that…there's some arguing about where to start, and-"
Stoick shot him the iciest glare he could muster, a glare he never thought he would have to use on his best friend. He felt as though he had transformed into a Jotunn, a frost giant, by the terrified expression on Gobber's face; though he could not bring himself to soften.
"I just lost everything worth living for in my life Gobber…I don't give a damn about their arguing. Now you go in there, and you tell them to shut the Hel up and find a solution, or Odin help me I will go in there and rip the beard off of any man who puts up a problem. Got it?"
Gobber, eyes wide, nodded rapidly.
"Aye Chief, you got it…OY, YOU LOT, SHUT IT!"
Stoick sighed. Gobber had stepped away, leaving him in peace.
A peace that was quickly surrendered.
"Oh, um, Stoick?" Gobber spoke softly, delicately, "You still have your son. You still have Hiccup."
The babe in question was being cared for by Solfrid. The Ingerman house had been spared during the chaos, and so Hiccup had ended up in their care. She had cleaned the dribble of blood coming from the cut on his chin, and had kept him calm and quiet enough to sleep. She had not questioned why Gobber had passed the infant onto her, but had done her duty without complaint. Valka was her friend of course, and she needed the practice for her own future little one.
"Sol," Fisk entered their home, his helmet in his hands. His straw colored hair was clamped down onto his forehead from sweat, his beard laid limp.
Solfrid, who had Hiccup on a couch beside her, stood.
Stoick entered the house.
"Oh, Stoick," Solfrid smiled, "I'm glad you found us. Hiccup's here, safe and sound. He's been very good, sweet as can be."
"Thank you, Solfrid," Stoick grumbled, nodding in the direction of his son. "I'll take him, now."
"Of course Chief," she stepped aside. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw Stoick's shoulders shudder before he approached his son. With his large hands he scooped Hiccup up and cradled his head on his shoulder. How a massive man could move with such gentleness was beyond her; she worried how Fisk with all of his bulk would handle a newborn. Stoick seemed to have perfected the art.
"Thank you again," the Chief said stiffly.
"Of course. Any time you or Valka need someone to watch him-"
He froze in the doorway. Solfrid could hear a soft whimper…too low to come from a baby.
"Yes," Stoick responded, before disappearing into the misty dawn.
Solfrid stared after him, leaning into Fisk as he wrapped his arm around her.
"Something happened," he whispered, pressing his lips to the side of her head. He held her then, as if she were the most precious item he could ever hope to possess. Solfrid did not know it then, but the tears that she began to weep were for her fallen friend.
"Spite," Lundy stood with her hands on her hips, Snotlout wailing at her knee. "Spitelout!"
Her lazy husband sat before the hearth, his head hanging down. No doubt he was asleep. Of course he was, there was work to be done. There was a hole in the roof where a Gronkle had crashed into it, and Lundy wanted it repaired before the next dragon raid. A cranky, teething toddler was not helping her mood either.
"Spitelout Jorgenson are you even listening to me?"
With a growl, she hoisted up Snotty and stomped down the steps. She deposited her son down by his many toys, but he toddled over to her again.
"Maaa…" he wailed, begging to be held. With a sigh, she obliged.
"Look, I know that you're tired from your voyage and the raid…but we've got to get that roof repaired. I don't want Snotlout getting sick from the draft. Who's around that can help? I think Finn is handy enough, or maybe Mulch…Spite?"
No, he wasn't sleeping.
Her husband, her strong, fierce, relentless husband, was crying.
Immediately, she knelt beside him, ignoring Snotlout's persistent, demanding hands.
"What is it?"
"You have the most beautiful eyes my darling girl," Odina Hofferson cooed to her daughter. Astrid was the only one allowed to see her soft side, or Aron when he was around. Two months without her husband had been tough, though Odina was not about to admit that to anyone. At the very least, Aron had been an extra set of hands around the house. Odina had not been pleased with keeping house; she was a shield maiden after all…but she was dutiful. No matter what those duties were she would keep to them.
Of course now she did not have a house to keep. Their hall had been one of the first ones set aflame by dragon fire…but Odina and Aron had already been woken up by the cries of their daughter. They managed to get out in time, and even saved several of their precious belongings. They were lucky, truly blessed.
Though taking refuge in the Great Hall was not ideal, it was their only option. Odina had noticed damage to Lundy's house, and had not seen Phlegma since the raid began. She heard that the Ingerman's house was unscathed…but Solfrid was a bit too sweet for Odina's liking, at least when it came to housemates. No, until she heard from Phlegma, her little family would remain in the Great Hall.
Astrid blinked at her, kicking her long legs in an unsteady manner. She frowned slightly…her smiles were few and far in between…she was quite a serious child.
"Where has your father gone off to?" she asked Astrid. It was nearly sunup, and she had not seen her husband for hours. Last time she had seen him was at the disastrous village gathering, which had disbanded almost as quickly as it had come together. Stoick had been a no-show…go figure. He was probably out handling that wife of his. Odina's blood still ran hot when she thought about their quarrel the day before.
"She only got upset because she knows I'm right," she whispered to Astrid, "Just won't admit it."
"Din," the smell of smoke preceded Aron's voice.
"Ah," she rolled her eyes, "There's your father. Home at last," she turned to see him, his face, clothes, and hair covered in soot. "Where have you been?"
"Salvaging."
"Salvaging what? We got everything out that we could-"
"No, not our house. The Chief's house."
Odina blinked. She had not heard that Stoick's house had been destroyed.
"Anything?"
"A few things…things that Valka had packed to take with her."
"So then, why were they left behind?"
Aron stared at her, his deep eyes…the eyes their daughter inherited, were infinite. They told stories, sang songs, recounted battles…shared news both good—
"No…"
And bad.
"You can stay here as long as you need," Gobber gestured inside the tiny hut besides the forge. It was small, only one room, and full of clutter…but it had four walls and privacy.
"You sure you don't mind?"
"Course not. I usually sleep in the forge anyway."
Stoick nodded, noticing the unmade bed in the corner, but consciously ignored it. He moved into the small space, feeling claustrophobic, and settled Hiccup down onto the bed. His cradle had burned…he would need to make a new one…
"Stoick?"
He winced. Every time he heard his name, all he could hear was her screams…
"Aron uh…he found some things…" Gobber brought out a small sack that had been sitting on a stool besides the door. "They made it through, mostly."
Stoick nodded again, and put the parcel besides the bed. He would deal with it tomorrow.
No, today. Dawn had begun.
"If you need me, I'll be in the forge…lots of things to fix you know."
"I know."
"Might get a bit loud for the babe," Gobber offered kindly.
"We'll manage."
Stoick did not see it, but Gobber extended his hand to clasp his friend's shoulder…only to let it drop down back to his hip. He slipped out without another word, but gave a long, lingering look at the mighty Chief, wounded in a way Gobber couldn't imagine. Once he entered the sanctity of his forge, Gobber allowed himself to weep. He had grown fond of the little oddball that had won Stoick's heart. She had an infectious laugh and a charming stubbornness that could give Stoick a run for his money. She lit up around Stoick, and loved their son with every ounce of her being. The fact that she was a pacifist, and a vocal one at that, could be ignored by all of her endearing qualities.
She was the one who kept Stoick happy, the one who helped melt the burdens of his mantle away.
"All father," he began, slamming down on the bellows with more force than usual, "of all the women on this island, of all the souls here, why did you have to take her?"
There would not even be a body to burn.
Hiccup blinked, his eyes squinting at the dim light of the fire in the hearth. He stretched out his long limbs and smacked his lips, becoming acquainted with the unfamiliar space.
It was the unfamiliar face that caused him to whimper.
Stoick had not even noticed that Hiccup had woken up, not until he saw something stir out of the corner of his eye. He stood, kneeling down besides the cot, and looked into the eyes of his son.
That's when Hiccup began to scream.
"Oh no, Hiccup…shh…shh…" his hands had never felt so useless. He reached for the baby, but the sight of his massive hands frightened Hiccup even more. "Oh gods…you're okay son, you're okay."
Of course he was terrified: Hiccup had not seen Stoick in two months. He was a stranger, a danger.
Just as Hiccup was a stranger to him.
"I…uh…oh son…" he choked back the tears. Valka had been Hiccup's sun, the focus of his universe. He would surely look for her and, oh gods, how was Hiccup going to eat?
Desperately searching for answers, Stoick painfully recalled what Valka had said to him only hours ago: He likes funny faces and when I sing. He's not a big fan of clothes when he sleeps, but he loves having his tummy rubbed.
Despite his agonizing sadness, Stoick contorted his face into a scrunched up, humorous sight.
Hiccup paused, sniffling, looking.
Without hesitating, Stoick formed a different face, sticking his tongue out.
Hiccup chuckled, a short but satisfying sound.
It turned into a ripple of giggles as Stoick tickled his belly.
The noise brought the faintest of smiles to Stoick's face. Carefully, he scooped Hiccup up, and sat with him resting on his bent knees. Hiccup grabbed a hold of Stoick's finger, his tiny hand unable to wrap completely around its thickness, but his grip was tight.
"Thatta boy, do you remember me now?"
Hiccup produced a net of bubbles on his lips as he babbled. Stoick sighed.
"You'll be alright son."
He would be: Stoick would make sure of it.
Hiccup flapped his arms excited, the tiniest squeak coming out of his mouth: "MmmmA!"
The floodgates burst open as Stoick held Hiccup tightly against his chest.
"I'm sorry son. I'm so sorry."
Yes I am continuing the story! Have no fear my dear readers!